Despicable Mo…tormaster
by Taipan Kiryu
Summary: Megatron orders the Stunticons to acquire a pivotal element in his newest plan, namely a four year old human girl. Story inspired by 'Despicable Me', starring the ruthless leader of the Stunticons… and Agnes.
1. Chapter 1

**Despicable Mo…tormaster**

**Written by Taipan Kiryu**

_This story won't be actually related with the 'Despicable Me' movie. Mostly I will be using some quotes from the movie as chapter titles or to insert them in the story every now and then, but this fanfiction will be original and will have no relation with the movie whatsoever, the exception being, of course, Agnes. _

_So, in other words, it doesn't matter if you haven't watched the movie, you will be able to understand my story quite fine. _

_Although this will be a humorous fic, my biggest challenge will be to keep Motormaster in character all the time. He's called the terror in eighteen wheels for a reason, and I have no intention to forget that._

_Enough said. I hope you will enjoy this story, my first Stunticon-centered fic, also a sort of warm-up for my incoming Stunticons-Aerialbots story, which should see the light soon, as soon as I finish a couple of my other ongoing fics, that is…_

_Many thanks to iratepirate for all her grammatical and emotional support._

_Also many thanks to QoS. Her Stunticon stories are an inspiration._

_DISCLAIMER: Transformers belong to Hasbro/Takara and Agnes to Illumination Studios/Universal Pictures. _

_Motormaster belongs to no one._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 1**

**You're funny!**

"Sir, would you like to buy some cookies?"

Breakdown only sighed with annoyance as Wildrider burst into laughter, enjoying his own joke for the second time that day. The insane Ferrari was still submerged in his feverish attack of laughter when he was already on his way to the next door.

Breakdown opened his comm link, not daring to use the gestalt bond in fear that a certain ill-humored semi would hear him. "Did Wildrider just knock on your door and ask you to buy um… cookies?"

"_Yes," _Dead End replied, noticeably bored. _"I supposed you would be next on his list. Although I confess I have no idea what he would do if his offer were accepted. I didn't see him carrying any cookies."_

"He's at Drag Strip's door now… And he just got punched in the face. You don't suppose he will try his stunt with Motormaster, do you?"

"_Impossible to know what happens in Wildrider's processor, one of the mysteries that none of us will live to find out about."_

"He's going to get slagged if he continues like that… why don't you take him for a ride?"

"_I fail to recall the moment in which I was appointed as his guardian. Why don't _you _take him for a ride, Breakdown?"_

"Uh… no… I hate going out with Wildrider. He calls so much attention… If at least all those humans would stare only at him … But no, they stare at me, as if my chassis has some sort of magnet for their little organic optics…"

"_Please spare me another one of your episodes. As for Wildrider, I suggest you make the proper preparations for his funeral service. Motormaster won't tolerate it if he tries to sell him cookies."_

"Okay but…"

A crack in the gestalt bond interrupted the private conversation. Both Breakdown and Dead End closed their comm links and focused only on the commanding voice to come. They didn't have to wait more than one second.

"_Stunticons, report to the Command Centre at once. Megatron has summoned us."_

Breakdown sighed. So Wildrider would live to see another day… and sell more cookies.

* * *

Wildrider was still snickering and mumbling something about orphans and cookies by the time the Stunticons hit the highway, forty three minutes after Megatron gave them his new orders.

"_I don't understand," _Drag Strip spat as he swerved to avoid a big advertising board that Motormaster had just taken down, the race car clearly annoyed by having to restrain his speed to stay at his commander's rear. _"Why the slag did Megatron send us to kidnap one single human? Soundwave's minions could have taken care of something so simple, something so… so…"_

"_Unwary?" _Breakdown suggested.

"_The correct word would be unworthy, Breakdown, but yes, that term could also be used to describe our current assignment."_

"_If you three value your filthy vocalizers, you may as well consider keeping them slagging shut!" _Motormaster roared.

"_Sir, would you like to buy some cookie—"_

Motormaster swerved to the right and violently crushed Wildrider against the road railing. The Ferrari broke it and got projected to the ravine below, but his disrespect toward gravity allowed him to be back with his four wheels on the road in a matter of seconds.

"_I'm just saying that I see no point in sending us to kidnap some human flesh bag," _Drag Strip continued, carefully softening the tone of his voice. _"I understand that we need to get to her creator, and that he's currently missing in action or something, but what use could Megatron get from that human's midget?"_

"_Humans are fond of their offspring," _Dead End explained._ "We get the girl and the father will follow." _

Motormaster growled, exasperated. _"Lord Megatron sent us, his elite team, to acquire a vital advantage for his newest plan. Stop talking nonsense and concentrate on your assignments. Know that I will not accept failure this time. I'm always so tolerant with all of you morons, but that is about to change."_

"_Girl, girl?" _Wildrider asked, still submerged in his most recent psychotic attack. _"Does the girl sell cookies? Is she an orphan?"_

"_No," _Motormaster said darkly. _"But soon she will be."_

* * *

As much as he would have wanted to order a hit-and-run assault on the vast and luxurious mansion that was ahead of them, Motormaster knew that he would have to resort to more... subtle ways, as much as the simple word disgusted him. Megatron had emphasized that the target was not to be harmed under any circumstance, and Motormaster would make sure that his order would be strictly followed.

So bursting into the humans' dwelling and shooting everything that moved was out of the question. He would need finesse for this mission, something that would certainly require his team to exercise their stealth. It was one of those skills born from cowardice that Motormaster despised so much, but that for the moment it would have to do.

And finesse itself approached rolling from behind, grumbling and complaining. Nothing rare, because Drag Strip always complained, no matter if he was about to be used as a decoy or not. Of course, the slagging fool found some comfort in thinking that he had been chosen because of his superior looks. With teammates like that, there was no doubt why the Stunticons hadn't reached the peak Motormaster desired so much.

Wildrider walked beside the yellow Formula One car, filling his trunk with all kind of colorful objects.

"What's all that?" Breakdown asked, his head peeking out from behind Motormaster's trailer, abandoning his hiding spot in the parking lot for a moment in order to satisfy his curiosity.

"Candies, stuffed animals, articulated figures of Charles Manson… the kind of things human kids like," Wildrider happily replied, already on his average level of 'sanity'.

"Who is Charles Manson?" Breakdown asked.

"Who cares!" Motormaster spat. "Finish conditioning Drag Strip and send him in. The target is already in the extraction area."

"It's done, boss. Oh, wait, I almost forgot!" Wildrider said, slamming an Autobot badge on Drag Strip's hood.

"_What the slag is that?" _Drag Strip snapped, as predicted.

"You're the Autobot visitor, remember?" Wildrider explained as if he were imparting a lesson to a recently created mech. "That's why you are filled with all this stuff. The kids will jump at you, you will tell them all that freedom-is-the-right-of-all-slagging-beings nonsense that the Autobots are always preaching, and boom! We get the girl."

"_Boom?" _Dead End asked, polishing a small section of his forearm that looked slightly less polished than the rest of his armour. "I thought we would restrain from using deadly force this once."

"Deadly force will only be applied on you fools if you don't shut up!" Motormaster growled, his patience reaching its limit. "Dead End, Breakdown, Wildrider, transform and proceed to your positions. Drag Strip, I want you inside and creating the distraction in exactly five minutes. Dead End will provide you support and Breakdown will disable the mansion security system. Wildrider will isolate the target and I will secure it. If any of you idiots have any doubts, I'll be happy to carve my orders into your spark chambers."

As he expected, none of his teammates dared to speak. Motormaster also transformed to his vehicle mode and attached to his trailer, mapping the positions of all his team. _"Remember to keep a low profile. Except for Drag Strip, we are nothing but simple human vehicles from now on. Stunticons, go now!"_

* * *

Exactly five minutes and thirty seven seconds later, Motormaster felt a clear wave of desperation and rage coming from the gestalt bond. He felt authentic, sick amusement at the predicament of his teammate.

"_Come on," _Motormaster said maliciously through the bond. "_Dare to ruin this and Menasor will lose one arm for good. Come on!"_

"_T-they are touching me… Everywhere… with their sticky, sweaty hands… I'm in hell!" _Drag Strip cried.

"_Just hold on a little longer, you fool. Dead End is currently arriving to assist you."_

From his location outside the main gate, Motormaster could see the maroon Porsche driving slowly but recklessly through the big garden. Some human adults shouted something at him and waved their arms frenetically, but the "drunk driver" ended up crashing into the nearby pond anyway. The grown up flesh bags and some of the small ones ran toward the half sunken car, but the rest of the little humans stayed mounted on Drag Strip's sides, making sure to strip him of all the goodies he was carrying.

"_Breakdown, report."_

"_Security system offline," _Breakdown announced through the gestalt bond. _"Not even one of those cameras is working anymore."_

"_Wildrider!"_

"_Here boss, already inside the garden and isolating the girl… Hey, more kids are coming. Can we kidnap them all? I have always wanted to open 'Wildrider's day care'."_

"_Focus, you idiot! Isolate the target and get rid of the other flesh bags. Now! We are running out of time."_

"_Sure, leave it to me, boss!"_

When Wildrider started to perform a light and sound show that would have made Jazz shoot himself, Motormaster decided he had to intervene. It hadn't been a good idea to leave so much responsibility to Wildrider after all, and Motormaster wasn't willing to fail only for the stupidity of his insane subordinate.

He transformed, his imposing structure shaking the ground when he landed on his two feet in the garden. As predicted, all humans, adults and younglings alike, started to run as if they were facing the ultimate shutdown itself. All but one…

The tiny and bubbly black haired flesh bag remained in front of the giant gray robot before her with an astonished stare… and absolutely no fear at all.

"Heh," she grinned, looking at Motormaster. "You're funny!"

Motormaster seized her with his hand and put her into his cabin. _"Stunticons," _he said through the gestalt bond as he transformed. _"Abandon positions and proceed to the base. Mission accomplished."_

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_Chapter two is almost done and should be posted soon. Please let me know your opinions :o) _


	2. Barbie's minivan can fly

_Thanks so much for your reviews. I honestly don't know what I was thinking by mixing Motormaster with Agnes, but at some moment when I was watching 'Despicable Me' for the second time the idea popped into my mind and refused to leave. So here I am, obedient of my madness as I always am._

_Many thanks to iratepirate for beta reading and for almost causing me a cardiac arrest after one of our most memorable laughing sessions. I mean it, she's one pretty insane case :oP_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 2**

**Barbie's minivan can fly**

It was like the inflatable toy in which she had been last week, just like a ton times better. For starters, it had colorful lights that made very funny sounds. It was like a giant version of Barbie's minivan, only that this one wasn't pink and didn't have flowers on the windows. But it had something much better: purple windows!

A strong tremor and Agnes was flying again, laughing candidly as something caught her in mid air and returned her to the fluffy surface. She clapped her hands and cheered more than the last time her dad had taken her on a rollercoaster.

Another funny sound and she could hear a voice – a funny voice. Somewhere, somebody had turned on the TV, but there was no image, only sound.

"_Hey, boss?" _the voice said. It sounded like the guy who hosted 'Texas Trucks' on TV.

"_WHAT?"_

The second voice sounded all around her, like the voices in the movie theaters but much, much, closer, like if the voice came from Barbie's minivan itself. And it sounded angry with 'Texas Trucks' voice. People only shouted when they were angry.

"_I just thought that maybe you would like to drive, you know, like slower? Girls can leave smelly and viscous things on your seats when they feel sick."_

"_Wildrider talks from experience," _a third voice said.

"_Shut it!" _Texas Trucks said again.

"_The target is secured," _Barbie's minivan spoke again. _"You morons would do better keeping your optics on the road and not talking nonsense. Dead End! Any signal of Autobot activity?"_

"_Not yet, but there certainly will be. There always is." _That one sounded like one of the men with suits that always surrounded her dad when he took her to England city.

"_Yeah, yeah, the Autobots will come from behind and will shoot your shiny aft to the skies. What's new?" _That one was third voice again.

"_Um, could you take another look at your radar, Dead End? What if the Autobots are already there… staring?" _And that one was a new voice, one that was surely afraid of darkness.

They were all so funny.

* * *

Any other Decepticon would have been disgusted by carrying a flesh bag of the protoform type, stating how degrading such task would be for a warrior built for combat and conquest.

Not Motormaster. He wasn't feeling disgusted. In fact, he wasn't feeling anything at all.

What was inside his cabin was the acquired target, as valuable and important as any other component Megatron had ordered him and his team to steal. Megatron had commanded him to secure that particular human and his order had been fulfilled on schedule. Once Motormaster and his team arrived at the base, the subject would be delivered to Megatron and the mission would be over. It wasn't any of Motormaster's concern what motives were behind the acquisition of said subject, and of course it wasn't his intention to enquire about them.

He heard something humming, a foreign sound close to his control board. Perhaps a malfunction, but certainly minimal. And even if such wasn't the case, it would take terminal damage to keep him away from the road. He wasn't like his teammates, idiotic weaklings that he had to save from deactivation on a daily basis. They were cowardly enough to give importance even to insignificant matters such as a flat tire, but not him. Motormaster would keep rolling even if he had all eighteen wheels down. Driving was not a matter of rubber, but of pure force and will. He had tried to embed – literally – such teaching into his teammates' processors, but they seemed not to understand, using the stupid excuse that their cerebro-shells didn't function properly when they were being beaten. Only Drag Strip seemed to understand the pride that driving involved. Sometimes.

The humming happened again. Motivated by boredom, and certainly not by curiosity, Motormaster turned his inner optical sensors to the origin of the sound. A tracking red circle in his HUD centered on the foreign element: the recently acquired human subject.

Motormaster had almost forgotten it was alive. He had secured its integrity by restraining it with two seat belts he had installed that morning for that specific purpose, but that was as far his preoccupation went for that subject in particular.

Motormaster would have preferred an immobile element, such as the ruby he had stolen for Megatron's weapon some months ago, when the shameful bogus-Menasor incident had happened.

The creature hummed again, causing a feeling of annoyance in the semi's processor, something not hard to achieve. Motormaster thought about turning his radio on and silencing the slime-squirt with simple volume, but he wasn't fond of human music or whatever the radio airwaves offered. That was for imbeciles such as Wildrider, but certainly not for him. So he went for the easiest, most logical, approach.

"_SILENCE!"_

The target only opened her tiny, wet mouth and croaked.

"_Uh, sorry boss," _Wildrider said through the comm link. Motormaster only growled in response.

"_He wasn't talking to you, aft head," _Drag Strip said.

"_Then to whom? Breakdown?"_

The all too familiar feeling of anger ran through Motormaster's systems like fuel. If he had been in bipedal form, he would have grabbed Wildrider and Drag Strip's heads and crashed them so hard against each other that they both would have ended up with parts of each other's helms embedded in them. But he wasn't in bipedal form, so he would have to delay the punishment. Of course, ramming them at one hundred and forty miles per hour was always an acceptable replacement, but Motormaster had the integrity of the subject to consider.

As if on cue, the little slime-squirt croaked again. It was only then when Motormaster realized that the thing was actually talking. The words computed in his processor and his data banks made the proper identification.

"You're so fluffy!"

_Fluffy. Covered with or resembling fluff / Being light and soft or airy._

Not a word that Motormaster ever used. Not a word he would ever care about.

"You're so fluffy I'm going to die!" the squirt went on, jumping as much as the seatbelts allowed her too and squeezing Motormaster's seat.

Now he had felt that, the feeling of a foreign element inside his cabin. That squishy wasn't like the ruby he had carried or any other element he had secured for Megatron. That current element had hands, and was using them to _touch _him.

_And die you will, alright… _he thought, repressing the desire to release a mild electrical shock inside his cabin. That, perhaps, would silence the protoplasmic parasite, although it could also kill it and that was a risk Motormaster wasn't willing to take.

"_Autobots approaching," _Dead End said. _"As predicted."_

"England guy!" the squirt cried.

If he could have done so, Motormaster would have frowned. He had never heard of such stupidity in a creature that was supposed to be alive, with the obvious exception of Wildrider.

"_Drag Strip, Wildrider, create a distraction. Battle protocol is not scheduled for this mission." _Motormaster said the last sentence with a feeling of real regret running through his processor.

"_Sure thing, boss!" _Wildrider said, deviating his course and being followed by Drag Strip, who seemed more interested in getting ahead of Wildrider than in actually following the order they just had received.

At least some normality followed. Soon the unmistakable sound of metal smashing more metal into pieces preceded the explosions, the orange flashes and the tires flying. Motormaster was sure the Autobots would stop to help all the humans injured in Drag Strip and Wildrider's random attack, or to count the corpses on the highway in the best case. Certainly Menasor would cause much more havoc than just those two idiots crashing every vehicle in sight, but for the moment a merge was not to be considered.

"_Breakdown, Dead End, transform and activate your antigravity thrusters. We are heading to the base. Dead End, notify the Nemesis our estimated time of arrival."_

"_Tell'em we got the girl, too!" _Wildrider's voice could be heard through Motormaster's comm.

"_Only because I went in disguised as an Autobot," _Drag Strip added, right on schedule.

"_Return to formation, you two," _Motormaster commanded. _"Breakdown! Stay in the rear guard. In case the Autobots follow us, sabotage their engines."_

"_Okay…"_ Breakdown responded after a pause, certainly already disturbed by the possibility of having Autobots staring at him.

Fortunately for Breakdown, the Stunticons found no Autobot interference on their way back to the Nemesis. Just as predicted, the Autobot fools had preferred to assist the humans injured on the highway than engaging the enemy. Motormaster would never understand the glitched gears that worked behind the Autobots' reasoning.

But he didn't care about that, either.

* * *

The giant version of Barbie's minivan could fly! And stay in the air, something that her own toys couldn't do when she launched them. Agnes could see the sky through the purple windows, and the sea. She knew that sight; she had seen the sea from her dad's plane many, many times. The familiar feeling almost made her forget the fluffy bouncing toy in which she was sitting. Almost…

Another shake caused her another set of giggles. The inflatable toy had jolted so hard some minutes ago and suddenly the road outside had been replaced with clouds and pieces of sky.

She would have liked to know where the voices of the television had gone, though. After some minutes of flying she began to lose her giggles. Too much sky, too many clouds.

The beginning of a pout began to surface, but Agnes was used to the continuous changes of her routines and managed to keep it far away, for the moment. She was sure she would see her dad when the sky turned into roads again, or airports, as it always happened. So instead of pouting she found the fluffy surface beneath her and cuddled against it the same way she would have done with a giant teddy bear.

In a matter of minutes she was asleep.

At some point, another shake happened. And suddenly, she wasn't inside Barbie's minivan anymore. She was hanging from the fingers of King Kong himself. No, that wasn't King Kong…

"Funny!" she said, pointing at the huge metallic face before her, the same one she had seen at the party, definitely her dad's doing.

Next thing Agnes knew, she was being carried in a way that made all the attractions of Funland seem so, so small.

* * *

The one thing Motormaster hated the most about the Nemesis was the launching tower; a symbol of freedom when opened, a heavy burden when closed. Claustrophobia was a malfunction proper of Seekers, but he had it too. He knew that his teammates mocked him about it, but he hadn't had the chance to actually catch any of them doing it to impose a corrective action. Claustrophobia was, in Motormaster's opinion, his one and only defect – that and the fact that he was quite tolerant with his teammates.

But he descended in the launching tower elevator as if the blasted thing didn't bother him at all; there was no such thing as walls that could contain him, after all.

"What's with the flesh bag?" Drag Strip asked, watching with disdain the thing that Motormaster was carrying between his thumb and index finger.

"They make noises all the time. You should know that," Breakdown said, making sure to stay out of the creature's visual range.

"She's just talking," Wildrider was happy to clarify, talking like an expert on the matter.

Motormaster shot him an irate glance. He was aware that Wildrider was in touch with some human flesh bag as of some months ago. He hadn't given importance to the matter mostly because of its insignificance and because Wildrider seemed more focused now, but maybe it was time to change one of the many odd ways of his lunatic subordinate.

"Brilliant deduction," Dead End said disdainfully. "And what could _it _be saying?"

The flesh worm responded in the form of a frenetic agitation of hands and some unintelligible rambling from which the infamous _fluffy _term stood out.

"I think she likes you, boss," Wildrider giggled.

Breakdown peeked out from behind Motormaster's shoulder. "Does she, really?" he said, his curiosity defeating for a moment his never-ending desire for invisibility and making him follow Wildrider in referring to the worm as a _she_. "Did she just call you bubbly?"

"The term was fluff—" Dead End corrected, interrupting himself when Motormaster roughly elbowed Breakdown's face with his free arm and sent him to the floor.

"Do any of you idiots have any other intelligent comment to make?" Motormaster growled. "Go on!"

Nobody dared to speak. _Weak, useless cowards…_ If at least they were as disciplined as they were foolish. Motormaster was definitely _very_ tolerant with them.

The elevator stopped, making Motormaster put those thoughts aside. All he wanted was to deliver the cargo and forget about a mission in which the discomfort factor was starting to reach levels of annoyance.

He was surprised not to find Megatron in the Command Centre. Not even Soundwave was there. The only Decepticons present were Starscream and his two minions, Skywarp and Thundercracker, neither of whom were worthy of the interest of the Stunticon leader. But even if they had been, Motormaster wouldn't have given a slag about them, too busy staring with a frown at the figure of Starscream, who had dared to sit on Megatron's throne.

"Welcome back, Motormaster. I trust the powerful Stunticons succeeded in their mission… _for a change," _Starscream said, as always, displaying his characteristic irony. Could it be that the poor imbecile wasn't aware of how repetitive his pathetic act was?

"Where is Megatron?" Motormaster asked roughly.

Starscream settled in a throne that was too big for him. "On Cybertron. He had important matters to attend. Soundwave and the Constructicons went with him."

So the Second in Command was actually trying to act according to his rank, as empty and overrated as Starscream himself.

"I see I was right to assume you have the human with you," Starscream continued, fixating his optical sensors on the small figure hanging from Motormaster's hand.

"You're seeing it, aren't you?"

"Good job, Motormaster… It would have been too much if you had failed in such a simple mission. Give it to me, then. I'll secure it and deliver it to our fearless leader as soon as he returns, crediting you and your Stunticons, of course."

A small torrent of emotions started to circulate through the gestalt bond. Breakdown complained that Skywarp was staring intensely at him only to bother him, Drag Strip was urging Motormaster to let Starscream know that it had been his fake-Autobot stunt that had caused the success of the mission, Wildrider was admiring Thundercracker's frame, and Dead End was as indifferent as always.

"No," Motormaster said bluntly, turning around and beginning to head toward the exit of the Command Centre. "We will deliver the subject to Megatron ourselves."

A screechy sound could be heard. Motormaster smirked when he realized he didn't know if it had been Starscream's voice or the sound of the Seeker's fingers scratching the metal of the armrests of the throne. "Excuse me? I think you didn't understand what I said, Motormaster. I ordered you to give me that human worm. _Now."_

Motormaster stopped and turned around, fixating on Starscream one of his most threatening stares. "And I said we will deliver it to Megatron ourselves. Is there something _you _didn't understand, Starscream?"

The Seeker seemed to hesitate, as cowards always did. The self-appointed Second in Command knew perfectly well that Motormaster could make him eat his own afterburners with only one arm, but as always, the arrogant idiot wanted to challenge his limits.

Starscream stood up. "You seem to forget that _I _am Megatron's Second in Command. In his absence, I'm the leader of all Decepticons, and that includes you and your slagging glitches."

Motormaster extended his arm, placing the fleshling in Breakdown's hand, who immediately stepped forward to receive it, following a mental command. Right after, Motormaster walked until he was only a couple of mechano meters away from Starscream, raised a powerful arm and showed three fingers of his impressive fist. "Three facts. One: only Megatron commands. Two: the flesh worm stays with us. Three: you make me repeat myself one more time and I'll weld you to the wall."

The other Stunticons, except for Breakdown, aligned behind their leader, following their combat protocol. Skywarp and Thundercracker, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the slightest interest in assuming any battle formation. So typical of Seekers, very much afraid of scratching their pretty paintjobs, always evading any kind of hand to hand combat.

Starscream's optics narrowed until they were crimson slits on his dark face plates. It was so easy to infuriate him, almost as easy as it was to show him his own weaknesses. "Are you aware that I can have you sent to the brig for this insubordination?" he hissed.

Motormaster's guide on how to deal with annoyances:

Step one: Grab the subject by the neck.

Step two: Pin him into the wall.

Step three: Crush until he starts crying, then crush harder.

Starscream was whining even before he hit the wall. Motormaster kept an optic on the Seeker's wingmates – both the teleporter and the sonic boom creator could be dangerous rivals – but neither of them seemed interested in helping their commander. Skywarp was staring at the scene with curiosity and amusement, whilst Thundercracker had all his attention focused on a data pad he was reading. Motormaster would have never tolerated such act of disrespect and indifference from his own subordinates.

As for the gestalt bond, Motormaster could feel Wildrider and Breakdown's approval. Dead End, as always, didn't give a slag about what was happening, and Drag Strip was slightly disturbed by seeing Starscream's neck bending in such a brutal way.

"The subject stays with us until Megatron returns. Is that clear?" Motormaster said, making sure to embed his words into Starscream's processor by starting to dent the wall with the Seeker's helm.

Starscream didn't respond, his vocalizer paralyzed due to the enormous pressure on his neck components. But Skywarp did it in his place, bursting into laughter at his commander's disgrace. "Sure, he understands!"

Motormaster released Starscream with utter disgust. Seekers… such treacherous and self-centered creatures, not willing to lift a finger to help one of their own.

Starscream fell to his knees and cleared his vocalizer. "You… you don't have the means to keep that creature alive, not to mention that you or one of your dim-witted failures will end up stepping on it. Do I need to remind you of the importance of this specific human, Motormaster?"

Motormaster didn't need any crawling vermin to remind him about things he already knew. Megatron needed the subject functional and that was all that mattered.

"The subject will be ready for Lord Megatron to dispose of as he pleases," he said, turning around and heading toward the exit, this time for good, no regrets and certainly no second thoughts about arrogant and useless flying slags.

Motormaster recovered the flesh worm from Breakdown and led the rest of the Stunticons through the corridors. The human worm continued humming, but Motormaster paid no attention to it.

It wasn't until they arrived at their private area of the Nemesis when Wildrider was, for once, the voice of reason.

"And now what?"

The gestalt bond answered in unison. That's what everybody would have liked to know.

_To be continued._

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* * *

_

_As you probably noticed, I made a small reference to the G1 episode 'Masquerade', in which some Autobots disguised as the Stunticons and managed to create an illusion of Menasor. One of the best episodes ever!_

_There is also a reference to the story 'The girl who loved Wildrider', written by QoS, and it's used with her permission._

_Update coming soon. Please let me know your opinions._


	3. Hello Mister Motor!

**Chapter 3**

**Hello Mister Motor!**

"Thank you very much for letting me die alone, you idiots," Starscream hissed as he managed to stand up, his hands rubbing his very sore neck components.

"You are very welcome," Skywarp replied, smirking.

"Mm… Did you say something?" Thundercracker said in low voice from his seat, apparently very interested in whatever he was reading on a data pad.

"In case you morons didn't notice, I just got crushed by that brutish pile of Optimus Prime's spare parts! Why the slag didn't you help me?"

"Let me see if I've got this right," Skywarp said, arrogantly examining his finger joints. "You actually expected us to fight five ground-pounders … and on their element? Are you over-energized, by any chance?"

"Besides, you ended up on Motormaster's bad side all by yourself," Thundercracker calmly said. "That fight, if it had happened, would have been yours and yours entirely."

"_My _fights are _your _fights, Thundercracker! Have you forgotten who your commanding officer is?" Starscream yelled.

"Whatever you say," Thundercracker said absent-mindedly as he turned off his data pad and faced his shaken commander. "I just didn't see any reason to intervene in another one of your rants. Besides, a simple human sparkling is not worth the effort."

"As much as I agree with you on that, I'm afraid we are talking about more than a simple human sparkling," Starscream said, clenching his fists. "Give it to Megatron to waste the time and the resources of the Decepticon Empire on some selfish – not to mention utterly ridiculous – mission. And of course, who better than his own stupid gestalt team to make it happen? I really doubt that the Combaticons would have lowered themselves as much as to kidnap human vermin; even Scrapper wouldn't have submitted his Constructicons to that kind of humiliation… And for what purpose, in the end? To retrieve that useless Nightbird toy. Megatron is really losing it."

Skywarp snatched the data pad from Thundercracker's hands and turned it on. "You just talk like that because you're jealous. Every little thing that keeps Megatron's attention away from you drives you insane."

"How dare you—"

"Oh, come on," Thundercracker said, exhibiting a slight display of impatience, an oddity for him. "Wasn't it you who nullified Nightbird in the first place, only because Megatron said he would make her his new Second in Command?"

"Yeah," Skywarp smirked deviously. "Not to mention that he had all the intentions to make her his berth mate as well... Did you ever get _that_ far, Screamer?"

The Universe was infinitely wise, at least enough as to not give the Transformers the ability to blush. "All that Megatron did with that embarrassing Nightbird episode was show his immense incompetence as our leader. How could he ever consider a terrestrial toy a Decepticon? That's why I intervened! As for any other insinuation, you moronic slaggers should know that I'm not willing to tolerate it!" Starscream spat, both of his null ray riffles aimed toward his wingmates.

Skywarp didn't seem impressed by the potential threat and started to rotate the data pad in his hands, trying to find some meaning in the alien characters displayed on the screen. "Sure thing, princess… Hey TC, what the slag is this? Are you still going through your sexistentialist period?"

"It's called existentialist, and I— hey!" Thundercracker flinched when the data pad in Skywarp's hands exploded in pieces.

"When I speak, I expect to have your full attention, regardless of how impossible that would be for your spawn-glitched processors," Starscream hissed, his arm-mounted cannons still smoking.

"What do you need our attention for? So you can bore us to termination with your eternal, delusional speech?" Thundercracker spat, folding his arms across his chest. "You can be as geeky as you want, Starscream, but don't count me in for whatever you are thinking. I'm a Decepticon warrior and I respect myself enough as to not get involved in childish antics which target is a human sparkling. I'm out of here."

Starscream scowled at the retreating form of his subordinate, seriously considering shooting him in the back, but the doors closed behind the blue Seeker before the Air Commander could do anything.

"What the slag is his problem?" Starscream asked.

Skywarp shrugged his shoulders. "I think you are his problem… although you were lucky you didn't catch him on one of his bad days. But don't mind him. Unlike TC, I _don't _respect myself enough as to not get involved in childish antics. What's your plan?"

Starscream raised an optic suspiciously at his wingmate. "What? Are you saying you will actually back me up in this?"

"As long as it doesn't involve some high treason slag, I'm in. Without Megatron around, things are getting pretty boring and I hate to be bored. Besides, it's never too late to show those ground-pounders the supremacy of us Seekers, right?"

Starscream smirked. "The Stunticons could use a little lesson about Seeker supremacy indeed… and also about all the accidents that a simple fleshling can have in this base."

Both Starscream and Skywarp burst into laughter.

* * *

Motormaster held the small flesh pest between his fingers as he addressed it with a deep, attentive look for the first time since its capture. The creature seemed to be struggling, although the movement of its arms and legs seemed to be motivated by excitement and not dread. That made the Stunticon leader frown. All the humans that had faced him trembled, begged and sometimes lubricated themselves in fear. That vermin, on the contrary, seemed highly amused with him and kept calling him _fluffy._

"I find it curious," Dead End broke the stunning silence, which had lasted five seconds, a new record concerning Stunticon standards. "This human doesn't seem impressed with us. It must be used to robots."

"What's so curious about that? I'm used to robots too," Drag Strip retorted.

"That may be because you see them all the time, being one as you are, and actually living among them," Dead End explained as if he were talking to a mindless drone.

Drag Strip addressed his teammate with an angry look. "You see robots too, every time you look at yourself in the mirror, which is like twenty two hours a day."

"I see dead people," Wildrider giggled, but only Breakdown paid attention to him, having watched 'The Sixth Sense' with him the day before.

"Twenty two hours a day would be impossible, considering the time I spend on recharging, fueling and training matters—"

"Are you two a couple of slagging females?" Motormaster roughly interrupted Dead End. "I'll give you something more to worry about than your polished frames if you don't stop your stupid rambling right now. We have more important matters to attend to."

"The boss's right," Wildrider said, standing in front of Motormaster and starting to wave his hand before the human.

Motormaster's frown changed only to increase. "What the slag are you doing?"

"Checking her optics," Wildrider said with a strange tone of seriousness in his voice. "I don't think she's blind."

Motormaster's free hand tightened into a fist. "And why would _it _be blind, you idiot?"

"Well…"

Drag Strip snorted. "Wildrider has the stupid belief that it is normal for all human fleshlings to have defective optics. Ask him why."

Not giving a slag for discretion, Wildrider kicked Drag Strip's leg more viciously than he usually would have done in one of their regular skirmishes. Drag Strip pounced at Wildrider in retaliation but Motormaster tranquilized him by slamming his head against the nearest wall.

"Not fair!" Drag Strip whined, sinking to one knee and rubbing his helm. "Hit Wildrider too! He kicked me first!"

"My audios must be failing," Motormaster said calmly, the same calm that preceded intense pain, as his teammates already knew. "Did you actually _order _me to do something?"

Drag Strip cringed and protected his sore face with his hands. "Nnno…"

Breakdown peeked out from behind Dead End. "The creature is familiar with robots because she sees them all the time. Her creator is a scientist."

Breakdown regretted his verbal intervention as soon as Motormaster's fierce optics focused on him.

"I… I read the details of the mission…" he continued, like excusing himself.

Motormaster knew that the paranoid slagger had spoken only to ease the increasing tension and probably to save Drag Strip from a serious beating, although Drag Strip would never see it that way.

"Dead End! Are you also aware of the details of the mission?" Motormaster asked.

Dead End nodded nonchalantly as he tried to see his reflection on a nearby panel. "Mm, yes, I am, mostly because I wanted to check that the route we were going to take was the less polluted… and shorter, of course."

Motormaster's hand landed with excessive force on Dead End's neck, partially crushing his joints and forcing him to lean downwards. "Explain to your teammates the basic details of the mission we successfully fulfilled, which they would know if they had bothered to read the less-than-fifty words that the slagging message I sent them all this morning had."

"Aagh… Operation: human retrieval. Target: Agnes Fujiyama… Age: four years… Gggh… D-daughter of Doctor Kenji Fujiyama…"

"That's my daddy!" the slime-squirt chirped at the sound of the familiar name. Motormaster repressed the impulse of slamming her against the wall. If it worked with Drag Strip, it could work with any other type of insect as well.

Motormaster liberated Dead End, who immediately placed his hand on his tortured neck whilst Breakdown held him by the shoulders.

"Oh yeah, that's the guy who created Megatron's ninja girlfriend, isn't it? I'm sure I heard the Coneheads talking about that sometime," Wildrider said.

"Megatron has no girlfriends," Motormaster brusquely said.

Wildrider crossed his arms in deep reflection. "Then what does he have? Boyfriends?"

Motormaster slapped Wildrider hard enough to make him twist almost one hundred and eighty degrees.

"No, he has Starscream," Drag Strip sneered, content with the fact that he wasn't the only one who had ended up slagged.

"I think we are deviating from the main problem here," Dead End said, already recovered from the fleeting but brutal punishment to his neck components. "We have a human specimen literally in our hands and – as Starscream accurately pointed out – we don't have the means to keep it alive. My prediction is that we'll see its demise long before Megatron returns, whenever that may be."

"My prediction is that Motormaster is going to smash your mouth despite your face mask," Drag Strip said in low voice, returning to his bad mood and retreating a couple of steps to keep his distance from his leader.

"_Motormister!" _the human croaked again. Motormaster frowned. Why the slag had that parasite chosen _his _name to ridicule with such annoying rambling?

Wildrider giggled, quickly forgetting about the dent on his face. Motormaster shot him a killer glance before turning to Dead End again. "This thing is a simple human being. How difficult could it be to keep it alive?" he spat roughly, the impact of his words the same as if he had said _"How would you like to have your neck welded to your aft?"_

Dead End seemed to hesitate but it was too late to back off. "I'm just saying that it will need special fuel and maintenance we cannot provide… especially considering its young age – and the short lifespan it will certainly have."

Motormaster considered Dead End's word for exactly two seconds before addressing Wildrider. "Well? Aren't you going to provide your expertise? What kind of fuel does this vermin need?"

Wildrider cupped his chin in his hand and assumed the pose of a connoisseur. "Humans eat anything that's crunchy or shiny as long as it's displayed on a shelf. Supermarkets have lots of shelves."

"Are we standing in the middle of a supermarket right now, you idiot?" Motormaster roared, very close to losing his patience.

Breakdown turned around, looking for options. "Humans eat fish too. And the Nemesis is surrounded by them."

"I would like to see that flesh thing refueling with a shark," Drag Strip said.

Wildrider smirked at his teammate. "Good idea, Dragster. You could cook it."

"No no no! Don't even think about it!" Drag Strip cried, authentically anguished, certainly remembering the day in which Sideswipe rammed him at 150 miles per hour and made him crash into a fish market. The smell tortured him – and the rest of his teammates – for days.

Drag Strip suffering was always a welcome sight, but in that moment Motormaster was definitely not in the mood to enjoy it, or even better, to accentuate it. "You two will go to a supermarket and get whatever is shiny or crunchy, making sure it's proper for a vermin of this size. I want you here in less than two hours. If I find out you wasted time racing, fighting, going to a drive-in theater or whatever, I'll make sure to have your optics exhibited in the cheapest supermarket first thing tomorrow morning."

"Are optics for sale in supermarkets too? That's good to know!" Wildrider said happily, mumbling something about giving a surprise to someone. Motormaster didn't want to know more.

"I want Cheetos!" the flesh bag spoke again, waving her hands in that way that was already beginning to infuriate Motormaster. The word _supermarket _certainly had awakened her interest. At least they were on the right path concerning refueling issues.

Wildrider subspaced a datapad and approached her. "Cheetos… got it. Anything else?"

"Yessss… a unicorn!" the creature said, grinning with the sudden attention.

"What did it say?" Drag Strip asked.

"Something about Unicron," Breakdown said.

Dead End wasted no time in correcting his teammate. "Unicorn."

"Just get the fragging Cheetos and whatever a creature of this kind needs!" Motormaster roared. "Use the human internet for references. Now go! And don't dare to return without something useful!"

"You got it, boss!" Wildrider cheerfully said, making a military salute and transforming to his vehicle mode.

Drag Strip also transformed and followed the Ferrari, already engaging in a tacit race to the launching tower of the base. Motormaster shook his head with disapproval, although racing would make the two slaggers return faster.

"That leave us with one problem," Dead End said behind him. "What are we going to do with the creature now? Our recharge cycle is about to start."

Motormaster had already considered that small predicament, and he had actually begun to assess which of his teammates would be more suited to keeping an optic on the flesh bag for the night and making sure it would see the following day alive. Wildrider and Drag Strip were not to be considered, of course. Breakdown was an option; he would be too afraid to disobey any order coming from Motormaster and probably would stay the night online, if only to make sure the human vermin didn't stare at him, but Motormaster was also aware of how unpredictable his teammate could be during his paranoid episodes. Dead End seemed more fitted for the job. He would hate being forced to have such kind of company, because of its inferior species and also because he liked to recharge alone, but he was used to obeying without protest under the proper motivation and was generally very competent. On the other hand, there was also the danger of Dead End taking his fixation with death to another level if he were left in charge of a living creature, even for one night…

"_Motormister, Motormister!" _the human chirped, waving its arms at Motormaster's face.

"The correct word is Motormast—" Dead End interrupted himself when he realized who he was correcting.

"Um, Commander? She seems to feel comfortable with you… Perhaps you could… keep her for the night?" Breakdown said timidly.

Dead End looked at the human with one of his best disdainful glances. "It even knows your name, or something resembling it. How cute."

The human vermin started to laugh in a way that reminded Motormaster of Wildrider, although without the maniacal harmonics. How the slag a creature so weak and perishable could consider the situation amusing was something that Motormaster just couldn't understand. But more than that, its absolute lack of fear was beginning to seriously disturb him.

"Motormister, Motormister!" the creature kept saying, until it began to choke on her own words and gave its final verdict. "Hello, Mister Motor!"

Even Dead End decreased, ever so slightly, the contempt in his optics. "Now that was interesting."

Normally, Motormaster would have corrected any inconsistency concerning his name with a good hit to the head, in the case of his teammates, or a sword blow to the chest plates if the offender was an outsider, Autobot or Decepticon. But he wouldn't give a simple human so much importance, especially in the presence of his subordinates. The situation was already very embarrassing as it was.

And it would become more so.

"I'll keep it," he said curtly, making a decision he knew he would regret. But who better than him to make sure the job would get done?

As he turned around, he was sure both Dead End and Breakdown were mocking him. Oh, how he wanted to turn around and use them as punching bags… But he forced himself to calm down. Breakdown was the paranoid member of the team, not him.

He needed to recharge in peace and regain control. He was facing an entirely new – not to mention utterly degrading – situation and he needed to focus. He wouldn't give Starscream the satisfaction of being right and he definitely would _not _fail Megatron.

But peace was something he knew it would be denied for him, at least for that night, as the flesh creature kept calling him 'Mister Motor' all the way to his quarters.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_Yep, my Agnes is Japanese – she looked Japanese to me since the very first time I watched DM - and she's the daughter of the famous Doctor Fujiyama, who appeared in the G1 episode 'Enter the Nightbird' and created the sexy ninja robot. That's why I said that the plot of this story won't follow the 'Despicable Me' movie, but still, I will be using some quotes and adapting some situations from there that I'm sure the ones who watched the film will recognize. I will point them anyway for those who haven't._

_I also made a small hint to the story 'The girl who loved Wildrider', written by QoS. Geri, the human girl who befriends Wildrider there, is blind, that's why in my story it would have been normal for him if Agnes was blind as well. The way Wildrider's logic functions fascinates me :o)_

_Chapter beta readed by my fellow MW iratepirate. Thanks for reading and let me know if you enjoyed this chapter._


	4. Stunticons in WalMart

**Chapter 4**

**Stunticons in Wal-Mart**

Wildrider considered the current predicament he and Drag Strip were facing for a couple of seconds before finally giving his verdict.

"No, these won't do."

"Why the slag not?" Drag Strip said with very little patience.

Wildrider pointed toward the trailer of the knocked over semi, which was already beginning to burn.

"_Doritos_, it says there," Wildrider insisted. "The girl asked specifically for _Cheetos._"

Drag Strip punched one side of the trailer, piercing it with extreme easiness, and grasped a bunch of the small plastic bags. "So? I searched for an image file of that Cheetos fuel on the Internet and this looks pretty much the same to me."

Wildrider continued shaking his head. "Doritos are not Cheetos."

Drag Strip contemplated the possibility of punching his teammate, but that would unleash a fight and Motormaster had been very clear concerning unnecessary wasting of time.

He put both hands on the hole he had just opened and tore the entire side of the trailer off. "What are those?" he said impatiently. "Shelves! Didn't you say that the slagging human fuel was stashed on shelves?"

Wildrider bent down and took an attentive look inside, not even flinching when a small explosion sent a wheel toward his face. "Mm… still, this is not a supermarket. So nope, this won't work."

Drag Strip sighed. "Ookay… where to now, genius?"

"Isn't it obvious? To the closest supermarket, of course!" Wildrider said as he transformed into his vehicle mode.

Drag Strip was about to do the same when Wildrider's voice stopped him. "Hey! Don't forget to pay for what we took."

"We didn't take anything."

"Take, burn… whatever. Just pay the human and let's go."

Drag Strip snorted but approached the cabin of the marred semi. Normally neither he nor Wildrider would have cared about taking whatever they liked from the human nest, but that was a trailer they were talking about, and they both had something resembling respect toward such kind of vehicles. He looked in his subpockets and finally extracted a mildly used washing cloth he used for cleaning his tires. It wasn't among his favorites, otherwise he would have never considered getting rid of it.

He finished breaking the already shattered window of the semi with one of his fingers and threw the cloth inside, right on the offlined driver's head.

"You keep the change," he said before transforming and dedicating all his efforts to reaching and passing Wildrider.

* * *

Less than five minutes later, Wildrider and Drag Strip arrived at the nearest Wal-Mart.

"I won!" Drag Strip said, transforming into his bipedal mode.

Wildrider transformed as well. "The race, okay, but I crashed seventeen cars on the way. You only crashed sixteen."

"That's not true!"

"It is! Carriages with horses don't count as cars."

"They have wheels!"

"Yeah, but they don't have engines. They don't count."

Drag Strip narrowed his optic visor before assuming a relaxed, although seemingly forced, stance. "That may be true, but we actually said that the winner would be the one who crashed _less _cars."

Wildrider hesitated, his memory banks doubling their speed in an effort to have a clear image of what his teammate was saying. "We did…? I don't remember that."

"Well, we did," Drag Strip said convincingly as he proceeded to the store, opening the doors with a strong kick that brought down the shiny 'Open 24 hours' sign.

"Shopping time!" Wildrider said giggling, already forgetting about whatever he was trying to remember and not paying any attention to the dozens of screaming humans who ran away as soon as he and Drag Strip entered.

"Where do we start?" Drag Strip asked, taking a look around him once he walked over the cash registers' zone. "There are tons of things displayed on shelves."

"Remember, go for the crunchy and shiny things," Wildrider said, seizing a shopping kart and finding it too small to be pushed. He ended up grabbing as many karts as his arms could hold. "I'll go this way and you go that way. Meet me in five, 'kay?"

Drag Strip frowned. "No, I'll go _that _way. And _you_ meet me in five!"

With that, they both separated.

* * *

The first big decision Drag Strip had to make as he began to walk through – and over – the aisles of the store concerned his stance. The building had enough height to allow a Transformer of his size to walk with relative easiness, but still the upper part of his helm grazed the ceiling and it represented a menace to his paintjob. He wasn't as snobby as Dead End concerning his appearance, but scratches would never be welcome by his standards. For a moment he considered blowing the entire ceiling away with his gravito-gun, but he thought that such action would call too much attention and would leave pieces of floating concrete that would fall eventually, threatening his paintjob even more. With the sigh of a martyr, he continued advancing slightly hunched, a position not worthy of a robot of his rank and skills. If he'd been the one who called the shots, he would have sent Breakdown to that kind of job. There was no doubt that Motormaster's random decisions were led by envy toward Drag Strip's superiority and whatever his dumb processor could compute.

A beautiful sight caught his attention and rotated his mood. Displayed on the screens of dozens of television sets, his own image welcomed him, beautifully multiplied. He immediately located the small cameras placed on a table before him, another sight that made him smile. Perhaps the humans knew he was coming and had installed those cameras for him, there was no other explanation. And slag, did his yellow paintjob look really good on those screens or what…

Drag Strip straightened himself as much as the ceiling allowed him to and started to pose, admiring his polished frame, his attractive facial features and his perfectly shaped servos. He was a handsome mech, definitely a very handsome mech. Fortunately he was not an arrogant freak like Dead End and could admire his own looks without losing contact with reality. Dead End would have certainly spent hours there, just looking at himself. Drag Strip shook his head in disapproval, being careful not to do it so brusquely as to break visual contact with all those screens displaying his image.

But he did, if only for a second, and in that fleeting moment he could perceive the small, shivering figure hiding behind one television set. One second later, the human in question had two metallic fingers closed around his blue vest.

"Please don't kill me, please!" the fleshling cried, struggling in Drag Strip's grip.

That reaction satisfied Drag Strip. It was okay for humans to fear him, that was their place. That particular specimen was a male, and his pinkish face was covered by small brownish dots. Drag Strip lifted the human to his face and took a more careful look. The creature seemed about the same age as the Autobots' male pet and had small metal pieces all over his dental plates.

"Please don't kill me!" the creature insisted, seeming close to lubricating on itself. "Please! I… I'm just in charge of the credit cards… I don't get paid enough for this!"

"What's a credit card?" Drag Strip asked, not really interested but he didn't want some simple human vermin knowing something he didn't.

The human's shivering decreased slightly. "Eh… you can buy things from the store with it… You can take them now and pay for them later."

Drag Strip zoomed in his optical sensors at the small plastic rectangle the human was showing him. That didn't have any logic. "I can take things from this store now or whenever I want. Why would I want to pay for them later?"

The human seemed to understand his point. "Right… right sir… you don't have to pay for anything, i-indeed…"

Drag Strip was already tired of the shivering human. He was about to squish it when he remembered something. "I'm looking for Cheetos. Where can I find them?"

"C-Cheetos…?" the human stammered, his expression more confused than ever. "Two aisles to the right… There is a special offer right now, sir, three for the price of two."

Drag Strip placed the human on the floor, a little too roughly perhaps because the creature staggered and fell. "Take me to them, but first show me what you have for car polishing."

The flesh bag got up immediately. "Oh, right this way, sir! We just got a new detailing machine that will blow your mind!"

"It better not, or I'll blow yours."

* * *

It took Wildrider only a quick look to realize that the human fuel shelves were located on Drag Strip's side. It was a shame nobody else was there to notice his realization, otherwise maybe they would think twice before calling him insane.

But, come to think of it, he had been lucky to have ended up on the non-fuel side of the store. Drag Strip knew nothing about humans and wouldn't have had the initiative to get more than the Cheetos, but Wildrider knew better, and he was sure that the girl was going to need something more than just crunchy fuel. Like clothes, for example. He knew that humans changed them on a regular basis, unless they were superheroes or cartoon characters, who always used the same ones.

So he grasped the first thing that resembled clothing to him. _Shower curtains, _stated the small plastic envelope. Perhaps they were garments to be used when humans hit the wash racks, they would definitely come in handy. He seized five more, just to be sure, making sure to pick the best colours, namely grey and red.

That made him remember something, not because it actually had any relation to shower curtains or colours, but because his memory banks worked that way, jumping and sending torrents of data toward his processor and forcing him to deal with situations partially, or even completely, forgotten.

A unicorn, the human girl wanted a unicorn. _Or was it a Unicron…? No, that's what Breakdown said but Dead End corrected him, and Deadster's never mistaken._

So he did a quick search through the Internet and found what a unicorn was, although that didn't make things any clearer for him.

"… _a mythical animal generally depicted with the body and head of a horse, the hind legs of a stag, the tail of a lion, and a single horn in the middle of the forehead…" _Now just what the slag was that?

He knew about horns, though. Rumble and Frenzy used to tell him that he had horns, referring to his spikes, so what he needed was to find a little version of himself that the human girl could use as a toy. Unfortunately, there was no such a thing resembling him in the area he was currently thrashing. He found something useful, though, small curved containers that he could use for drinking energon instead of cubes. Toilets, they were named, if the information written above them was correct. That certainly didn't ring any bells for Wildrider, but he liked the colours, so he wasted no time in stashing half a dozen of them in his subpockets.

His radio caught a signal of a police frequency, and also one that featured a familiar voice that mentioned his current location. Was that Prowl? Wildrider kept grabbing whatever he found on the shelves and decided to do what he always did when those frequencies annoyed him: turn his radio off.

But first…

"How are you doing? You got the human fuel already?" he said through his comm link.

"_In a minute," _Drag Strip's voice answered. _"What about you? Did you find something useful?"_

"You bet I did. The Autobots may be coming, did you hear?"

"_Yeah, but we still have time. Hurry up, though, and meet me at the entrance."_

Drag Strip ended the communication. Wildrider only shook his head. Drag Strip was very amusing when he tried to get bossy. Curiously he never did it when Motormaster was around.

Wildrider kept collecting everything he could reach for the next couple of minutes. His search through the Internet turned out to be very confusing, and in the end he decided that anything displayed in that place would be useful to any human. It was a human supermarket after all; the fleshies wouldn't sell products they couldn't use themselves.

A dumb wall got in his way and ended up smashed. Wildrider looked around surprised. Somehow he had managed to exit the store. He was back in the parking lot, although a smaller, dirtier one.

"Woah man! Way to go!"

Wildrider glanced downwards and found a very thin human dressed in black leather.

_Like my interiors, _he though as he picked the creature up, half a dozen shopping karts falling to the floor and scattering many small boxes and plastic envelopes on the black pavement. He scrutinized the human carefully, noticing some differences from the usual humans he was used to seeing. This one had no fiber above the head and its skin plates were covered with a large number of black insignias and small metallic rings.

The human didn't seem impressed by leaving the ground so brusquely. It laughed hilariously as it focused on all the products that Wildrider was carrying.

"Did you knock up your lady, man?" the human said, pointing at one small, purple box with a shiny _'Pregnancy Test' _logo all over it. "You know, I've always wondered with you robots… How do you guys do it, you know, put a bun in the oven?"

Wildrider had no idea what the human was talking about, but it sounded funny, so he laughed. The human laughed too, even more hysterically than him, and only then Wildrider realized that it was a female.

"Hey man, do you want to buy some crack?"

"What's crack?"

"Helloo? It's like the best thing ever. I bet you'd like it, ya look pretty much like a geeker to me."

Now that was a word that Wildrider knew. Thundercracker used it a lot – or was it _geeky?_ "Yeah, I guess I may be."

"So how much do ya want? For only a hundred bucks I'll give you a half gram rock, but since I really like you, you can have it for eighty."

"Mm, not sure… Is this crack thing crunchy?"

"Oooh ya bet it can be!"

Wildrider smirked maliciously. "Then I'll have your entire stash, and for free."

The human's protests were interrupted by three sets of dazzling lights focused on Wildrider. Unfortunately Drag Strip was still inside the store, otherwise he would have enjoyed the sudden attention.

"Put that human on the ground, Decepticon. And do it slowly."

Wildrider adjusted his optics and recognized Prowl. At his sides, Sideswipe and Wheeljack had their guns ready to shoot.

Why did the Autobots always call him _Decepticon?_ He had a name, and besides he was a Stunticon.

"What… but I was just buying crack!"

That must have been a wrong choice of words because the Autobots shot him angry glances in response. Even Prowl addressed him with a stare that challenged his usual stiffness.

"I told you to put that human on the ground, Wildrider, and I won't repeat it."

Well, that was better. Being addressed by his name was always a welcome change. Usually Wildrider wouldn't have been interested in harming some anonymous human, but Motormaster always said that humans were very useful against the Autobots. It seemed that Optimus Prime had some sort of glitched directive in his head and had ordered his troops to never attack when humans were held hostages.

"Uh, no, I think I'll keep her."

"Do you think this is a joke?" Sideswipe spat, taking a threatening step toward Wildrider.

"No, _this_ is a joke," Wildrider said. "How many Autobots does it take to change a light bulb?"

"You have three seconds to let that flesh bag go or I'll blow your slaggin' head off! Last warning, Deceptiscum!" Sideswipe cried, his gun aiming directly at Wildrider's helm. "One, two—!"

Many things were said about the Autobots in the Decepticon ranks, but Wildrider knew one for sure: they had a lousy, like really lousy, sense of humour.

A familiar light and an equally familiar feeling of disorientation announced that Drag Strip had shot his gravito-gun. Wildrider's memory banks were not to be trusted, as Wildrider himself admitted, but he never forget anything related to his teammates – or their weapons.

Among the flying debris and street lamps, he could see the Autobots backing off in order to avoid being crushed by the altered force of gravity.

"What are you waiting for?" Drag Strip told him, standing beside him and stashing as he could an unidentified amount of human objects in his subpockets, most of them waxes and car shampoos. "Scram!"

"Oh yeah," Wildrider said, giggling and preparing his curve ball. As for his objective, he didn't hesitate in targeting Prowl. It was much more fun to mess with the serious guys. "Hey Prowler! Catch!"

Wildrider didn't wait to see if Prowl had managed to catch the human. Knowing him, he probably had. But Wildrider quickly forgot about Prowl and the human dressed in black leather. With a hysterical cry of "_Touchdown!"_ he transformed into his vehicle mode after salvaging whatever he could from his peculiar shopping experience and followed Drag Strip, his force field giving a slag for the shots already impacting him as Wheeljack and Sideswipe transformed and drove after them.

Behind, Prowl frowned at the human kicking his hands frantically, complaining about the loss of whatever the white dust decorating his face plates was.

_To be continued._

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_If somebody has a genie in a bottle, please borrow it to me. I want to ask for Stunticons in Wal-Mart! Needless to say that I don't own Wal-Mart, Cheetos or Doritos. If I would, I'd have a hundred monkeys typing my fanfics instead of me._

_The scene of Drag Strip watching himself in the television screens was inspired by one scene of 'Despicable Me', in which one of the minions does the same and sings in a karaoke, but I thought it would be too much mixing Drag Strip and mambo._

_I don't do drugs, so I had to check the prices of crack in the web. If I got them all wrong, please excuse my ignorance. Also, since English is not my primary language, I don't know how familiar you guys are with the word "geeker", but in case you don't know it, it means crack user. Good thing that Prowl can't sniff or he would be a very happy Prowl. Good change, but Autobot nightmare._

_If somebody knows how many Autobots it takes to change a light bulb please let me know. Wildrider left before sharing the answer._

_For such a focused person as I am (yeah, right), I'm babbling too much. It happens every time I write the Stunticons, sorry. Thanks a lot for your reviews and I hope you enjoyed this update. Thanks bunches to my beta reader iratepirate, who revised this chapter in the blink of an eye._

_Next chapter: how many minutes – seconds? – does it take for a human child to destroy Motormaster's patience? Considering he has patience, of course._


	5. A bug in my room

_Many thanks to iratepirate for the light-speed beta read._

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**Chapter 5**

**A bug in my room**

A red-hot, brutal wave of annoyance ran as free as a bird through Motormaster's systems as he entered his personal quarters. Due to the stupidity of his teammates, he was somehow used to being stuck in awkward situations, but the current one was claiming the number one podium very fast. Finding himself suddenly in charge of a human vermin exceeded his definition of bizarre. If such thing as nightmares existed, this had to be one.

"It's dark in here, Mister Motor… Can you hold my hand?"

He ignored the worm, although not without thinking how stupid its petition had been. He was still carrying the flesh bag by its upper garments. Besides, considering the huge difference of sizes, literally holding the creature's hand would be impossible without crushing it in the process, something he was very tempted to do.

The lights turned on, not because of what the human had said but because the surveillance system detected Motormaster's energy signature. He glanced around brusquely, looking for a proper place to put his unwanted charge. That presented a problem because his quarters were almost bare. Motormaster had been a very sober mech since his creation and he didn't think he'd need anything other than a computer terminal, a chair and a recharge berth, so he ran out of options very fast. In the end, he decided that two small supports embedded into a wall, which he used to rest his sword sometimes, would be enough to hang the human from.

Problem number two appeared quickly when he realized that the little pest had managed to embrace his index finger with its arms and legs. Motormaster grimaced, disgusted by the foreign touch, as he lifted the creature toward his face and shot daggers at it with his optics.

"I got you!" the organic mouth chirped.

"Let go," he growled, simply stating an order and disregarding the fact that he had consciously addressed the creature for the first time.

The human giggled and tightened its annoying embrace.

"I SAID LET GO!" Motormaster roared, doing his best to avoid shaking his finger and turning the bug into a small puddle of flesh and blood on the floor.

"I'm not letting you go-o, I'm not letting you go-o…" the human kept up its unbearable rant.

"We'll see if you let go when I slam you against the wall, you little pit-spawned squirt—"

An unfamiliar sound interrupted Motormaster's words. What the slag was that? Was somebody knocking at _his _door? Nobody ever did that. Not his teammates, who would _never_ get close to his quarters unless he ordered them to, and definitely not Megatron, who always summoned him by radio, not to mention that his Commander was not even on the slagging planet.

"I'm not letting you go-o, I'm not letting you gooooo." The nagging voice was disturbing him so much that he stomped towards the door without thinking about what he was doing and opened it, eager to punch whoever was outside and release a small part of his frustration.

For a mech who wasn't expecting anybody in particular, Motormaster was surprised to see Swindle standing outside with a big grin on his face. Even though Motormaster had not opened the door completely, he hurried to put his right arm behind his back, keeping the human attached to his finger out of Swindle's range of vision.

"Hello," the Combaticon said amicably. "May I have a word with you, Motormaster?"

Motormaster frowned. The Stunticons' zone of the Nemesis was forbidden territory for most Decepticons, but Swindle had always seemed very comfortable wandering around as if he owned the place. Motormaster knew perfectly well that his teammates dealt regularly with the Combaticon filth; he was the one who supplied them with whatever kind of forbidden merchandise they definitely didn't need, no matter if it were of Cybertronian or terrestrial origin. Combaticon hater by nature, Motormaster would have ended that commercial association a long time ago, but he had to admit that whatever supplies his teammates got from Swindle helped to keep them busy, busy as synonymous of out of trouble.

"What the slag do you want?"

He must have sounded very harsh because Swindle stepped back and raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Easy, big guy… I come here in peace, to help you actually."

Motormaster grimaced. _"Help me? _And how could a cheap piece of scrap like you do such a thing?"

"The Nemesis is a small world. There is this rumour that you guys are keeping a human girl, is it correct?"

"And what if it is?" Motormaster's impatience level was reaching the top. He was not going to waste his vocalizer in explaining the imprecision of such rumour.

Swindle widened his grin. "Well, I just thought you would need supplies to keep the girl comfortable… not to mention alive."

"I already took care of that."

"Yeah, about that… come on Moto, we both know that your boys will mess things up."

"What the slag do you mean? And don't you ever call me that again!" Motormaster narrowed his optics and showed his left fist to accentuate his words. The gesture worked, because Swindle flinched and took another step back.

"All I'm saying is that Drag Strip and Wildrider are not familiar with the needs of a human, especially of one so small. I, on the other hand, have a vast knowledge about the bags of flesh and _I_ have precisely what you need. Fuel, garments, furniture… you name it. Just say the word and I'll show you my catalogue. You'll find that I have the best merchandise and at the very best prices."

_Yeah, the best prices for your own fraggin' convenience… _"Is that so? And why would you be in possession of such merchandise? Last time I checked, this was a Decepticon base, not a slaggin' human nest!"

Swindle chuckled and brought his face closer to Motormaster. "Hey, you didn't hear this from me," he said in low voice, "but some of my teammates kidnap humans every once in a while and make them fight till death. It was more like a Combaticon diversion in the beginning, but lately more Decepticons have joined and the sport has gained popularity. Ask Drag Strip, he's a recurrent participant… although he has lost fortunes 'cause he always bets on the wrong guy. He even wagered your trailer once… Heh, of course nobody dared to claim it when he lost… Well, the thing is that I always have what is necessary to keep the humans functional, at least for the day or two they manage to live."

Motormaster had never been a _He-did-what? _kind of bot, but his interest was picked the moment Swindle mentioned Drag Strip and his infamous bet. He would have to deal with the slagger later, twice harder than usual because he had strictly forbidden his team to get involved in anything that remotely stank like Combaticon, not to mention that Motormaster would have to make it very clear that nobody, _nobody, _would bet his trailer and remain unpunished.

Motormaster would have liked to be able to leave his quarters to emphasize his point, but since he couldn't do it because of a certain flesh worm wrapped around his finger, he grasped Swindle's shoulder and tightened his grip, crushing metal and making the Combaticon groan.

"You are very far away from your territory, Swindle. Return to your slag hole now that you still have your legs attached. Remember that dead mechs can't deal."

"Uugh… Onslaught knows I'm here…"

"Onslaught who? The one you sold as scrap or the one who said that he would slag you for good as soon as you caused more trouble? If Onslaught has any complaint about the way I'm about to weld you to the floor, tell him to come and see me. I'll deal with him whenever and wherever, and the same goes for the rest of your team. Is that understood or do you need some more persuasion?"

"No, no… I understood…"

Motormaster nodded and released Swindle, pushing him backwards with mild force, but enough to make the Combaticon hit the wall of the corridor and fall on his aft.

"Hey, my offer still stands!" he heard Swindle saying whilst the door closed between them. "Comm me when your boys return with nothing more than junk, 'cause you know they will!"

Motormaster narrowed his optics, for a moment considering opening the door again and relieving the Universe of the pest called Swindle. But he had enough pest problems within his hands, literally, as the fleshling stuck to his finger proved.

When he raised his right hand towards his face he realized that the slime-squirt was still giggling and talking nonsense. Didn't that thing have an off switch? Usually he would have ended any idiotic gibberish around him with a slap on the offender's face plates, but doing that would mean ending up with a reddish stain on his hand and an important mission failed, the second consequence much more disturbing than the first one.

"LET. GO."

His voice resounded as thunderous as usual within the walls of his quarters, that was no surprise, but the grin on the creature's face was, as disturbing as it was annoying. But just what the slag was wrong with that bag of flesh? Infinitely small and weak, its strength lower than a joke and its situation beyond disadvantageous, and still it had no fear. It didn't fear him.

Motormaster snorted as he looked around, his quarters suddenly seeming so bare. He hadn't felt so short of resources – words such as helpless were absent in his data banks – since the accursed bogus Menasor incident, in which he had spent a very humiliating amount of minutes locked in an Autobot cell.

"Will you play with me, Mister Motor?"

Motormaster ignored the human, wondering if using it to polish his sword would count as playing. He headed toward his computer and opened one of the console's drawers. It had some data pads stored in it but there was enough free space to serve the very welcome purpose of hiding the human from his sight.

So he placed his charge inside, being careful not to squish it against the bottom.

"Mister Motor… it's dark in here…"

Finally, the human had showed a weakness. That pleased Motormaster, as much as he considered that creature unworthy of his attention.

"You will stay there," he threatened before closing the drawer. "Say one more word and your puny life will have never been darker."

The metallic sound of the drawer closing was still reverberating when Motormaster had already shut down his audio sensors, refusing to keep listening to the bug's rambling one single astro second more. The self-imposed silence brought him immediate peace, the one he needed to listen to his own thoughts; all of them were directed to his priorities.

He activated his computer and accessed the Nemesis database, looking for more information about a simple mission that had turned into a very awkward situation. To his annoyance, he didn't find many additional details. The creature had been sparked by the human known as Doctor Fujiyama, who had also built the combat robot Nightbird. Motormaster hadn't been created yet when the Nightbird episode had happened, but he knew she had been a suitable temporary addition to the Decepticon forces, so much so that Megatron had even considered making her his Second in Command. That seemed logical, considering her fighting skills. As for any further use his leader had in mind for the terrestrial robot, Motormaster didn't care. The Coneheads and the Triplechangers had said more than once that Megatron 'had the hots for her', but, once again, that was none Motormaster's business. He trusted blindly in Megatron's judgment and if it was so important for him to retrieve the ninja robot, it was Motormaster's duty, as head of the Gestalt team built by the very hands of Megatron, to do everything possible and impossible to make it happen. A soft thump coming from the drawer that managed to sneak into his almost deaf audios reminded him about the mocking boundaries of the impossible.

There was also the Starscream problem. As much as Motormaster despised the cowardly Second in Command, he was aware of the potential danger he represented. There was a limit for a barking dog; at some point, it could bite. When Megatron was not around, it was usual for Starscream to act like if he was in charge, a position that he definitely had no bearings enough to hold. Of course, even the arrogant slagger was intelligent enough to know that messing with a Gestalt team was a very bad idea, especially considering that his own wingmates didn't seem to have problems seeing their Air Commander slagged. But still, Starscream was going to be a permanent annoyance, as he was every time his pathetic pride was stomped on, which happened like twenty times a day.

Motormaster clenched his fists in anticipation. He would like to see him try… he wanted him to try. He was feeling more and more frustrated by the minute and denting the lustrous frame of the insufferable Seeker would bring such welcome relief…

An intermittent red light blinking on the console of his computer caught all the attention of his cerebral shells. He identified the signal immediately, a codified message that could only come from Cybertron. He returned his audio sensors to their normal status, stood up and assumed a martial position, pushing the button and preparing to address the only mech that had his undying obedience.

But instead of Megatron, the emotionless face of Soundwave appeared on the screen. Motormaster was displeased, but he didn't address Soundwave with the grimace he would have had for any other Decepticon. The Communications Officer had been directly involved in the construction and programming of the Stunticons, so a tacit bond had been created with him. Motormaster respected him enough as to address him as an equal, a treatment that Soundwave returned in the same way.

There was no need for greetings; Motormaster wasn't waiting for them. Soundwave only stared at him and intoned coldly the orders he had received. "Motormaster, report mission status."

"Target acquired," Motormaster said with the same lack of emotion. "Tell Lord Megatron that the human is secured and ready to be disposed of as he commands."

Soundwave seemed to approve. "Keep the subject under your personal surveillance. Lord Megatron needs it one hundred percent functional."

That was a not so subtle way of saying '_don't let your imbecile teammates dismember the human', _but those were words that Soundwave would never pronounce, as much as they were stuck in his vocalizer.

Motormaster nodded. "Consider it done."

"Expect Lord Megatron to return in approximately seven solar cycles. Soundwave out."

The screen turned black and Motormaster returned to his seat. Seven days… that was too slagging long to have a human under his care… He hadn't expected more than one or two days at the most, but seven… he didn't even know if bugs of that size lived that long. Great, now he was starting to think like Dead End…

Motormaster stared uneasily toward the closed drawer, which was strangely silent. He opened it with annoyance, thinking that Soundwave had forgotten to mention that the mission implied an important loss of pride.

His optical sensors immediately zoomed in the motionless form at the bottom of the drawer. _Frag, did I kill the slagging thing so soon?_

That was a possibility not to be considered. He poked the drawer with one finger, perhaps too rough because the small body jolted. But it had the desired effect, as two half closed organic eyes blinked toward the light. A frown followed, confirming for Motormaster that the creature was pretty much functional. Anger was a peculiarity exclusive of live organisms.

"It's dark in here…" the human complained. Motormaster noticed that its mouth was trembling and its eyes were wet.

_Disgusting organic creature…. _"You! Come out," he ordered bluntly.

The flesh bag shot him a hurt look before sitting and crossing its arms.

"No!"

Motormaster narrowed his optics and showed his impressive fist. "I said come out. NOW!"

The creature closed its optics and exposed her tongue. Motormaster didn't know why, but that infuriated him. He grasped the human by its garments and placed it on the console.

"When I give you an order, you obey! Is that understood?"

The creature's silence was a good signal. Perhaps if it stayed that way, Motormaster could manage to tolerate its presence. And he was an expert in tolerating annoyances. After all, he had been putting up with his idiotic teammates for almost two years now—

"TV!" the creature said, running toward the screen of the computer and touching it with its sticky, organic hands.

The slagging worm… it had been so busy staring at the screen of his computer that it probably hadn't listened to a word he had said. Motormaster felt fury running inside of him like a second fuel. For much less than that he had slagged his teammates so hard that they hadn't been able to walk for days.

"That's not a television and it's not for you to use!" he roared, seizing the human by the garments again.

Motormaster was expecting a signal of fear, the antecedent of obedience, but he only got waving arms and the return of the creature's annoying joy as response. "Higher, Mister Motor! Higher!"

Motormaster knew very little about humans, but enough to be certain that they were cowardly whelps. Entire battalions of terrestrial soldiers had been crushed under his wheels, always with that last look of horror in their putrid optics. But this one, the weakest of the species, had no fear for him, and no respect either.

Bad omens started to climb up his legs like snakes as the forbidden 'helpless' word made its way to his processor. How the slag was he going to impose respect in a creature he was forbidden to damage?

_To be continued._

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_There are a couple of references to the G1 episodes 'B.O.T.' and 'Masquerade'. _

_Update coming soon. Thanks a lot for your comments :o)_


	6. Rage is a rotten gummy bear

**Chapter 6**

**Rage is a rotten gummy bear**

Motormaster had always been a practical robot. He had lived his entire life running over whatever stood in his way. Autobots, Decepticons, humans, Primus… nobody had ever managed to make the King of the Road hit the brakes. Subtlety had never been his thing and it would never be.

Servos creaking in desire to crush, fuel boiling in anger… Motormaster refused to let the slagging _'helpless' _word get comfortable in his data banks as the putrid human protoplasm ran along the console of his computer with the most irreverent familiarity. He just had to find another way to return things to his control, an alternative to violence, the logical and effective way… How the slag was he going to—

A sound to his left shook his frustrated thinking session. His optic sensors focused on the data pad on the floor, sparks flying from its broken screen. A purple stare fixated on flesh like the aim of a weapon. The human noticed it and seemed to hesitate, exposing a face of impudent innocence.

"Uh… somebody broke that."

Liars were something that Motormaster hated almost as much as cowards. "_You_ broke that! Who else is fooling around on my fragging console? Lie to me again and you'll regret it!"

The human's mouth started to tremble again, a gesture that Motormaster was beginning to associate with weakness. Good. It was bad enough that he couldn't physically punish the germ to force discipline into its stupid processor.

"You will stay here for some time, so it's time to set some rules. Following them is your only option."

The human's face was not sending any signals except for its trembling mouth. Motormaster continued.

"Rule number one: you will not touch anything."

"What about the floor?"

Motormaster raised an optic brow. Was the slagging creature making fun of him?

"Can I touch the floor?" the human insisted, smiling,

"Yes, you can touch the floor…" Motormaster hissed between clenched dental plates.

"And the air? Can I touch the air?"

"Do you think this is a fragging joke, fleshling?" he said, waving a fist so close to the human that he felt the warmth coming from its small body.

The human giggled and suddenly embraced his clenched hand, as much as its little arms allowed it to. "Can I touch this?"

"No!" he roared, shaking his fist slightly and sending the human jolting backwards. "Rule number two: you will not bother me! That means you will stay quiet and silent. Is that understood?"

The human frowned and grabbed its chin. "Like a statue?"

"Yes, like a fraggin' statue," Motormaster replied impatiently. _A dead corpse would suit you better. _"Rule number three: you will not whine, or laugh, or talk unless you are addressed. This is a very important rule, so make sure to insert it in your organic processor. No annoying sounds!"

The runt stared at him fixedly, as if it was actually processing what he had said. Then it put its microscopic hands on its cheeks and drummed them. "Does this count as annoying?"

There had been times – not few – in which Motormaster had had to make a supreme effort in order to avoid pummeling his teammates to death. This one surpassed them all by far.

"VERY."

The creature only giggled in response, sending two rules of three to the Pit in a matter of an astro klik. With a trembling and eager-to-kill hand, Motormaster grabbed the bug and returned it to the drawer. At least there he wouldn't have to see it.

"I don't it like here, Mister Motor," it said with trembling voice when darkness surrounded its frame.

_See if you laugh in there, you fraggin' pest. _He closed the drawer, relieving his optics of the sight of the human. Shutting down his audio sensors again added a very welcome silence, providing him with a temporary feeling of peace, something he was very fond of despite being a robot who was used to solving everything with violence.

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It was about an hour later when Motormaster felt the tremor under his feet. He stood up and turned around. Had that been an explosion? Too soft for an attack, too strong for a generator humming… The answer came from a thin line of smoke sneaking beneath his door.

He subspaced his sword and proceeded towards the door, not caring a slag for stealth. If Starscream and his Seekers wanted a piece of him, they would have it, stuck up their tail pipes. The same went for the Combaticons or whoever dared to mess with him. But when he opened the door all he found was the smiling face of Wildrider, still playing with a small smoke bomb and opening his mouth as if he was speaking. Drag Strip was behind him, leaning on the wall of the corridor.

"WHAT?" Motormaster roared, grabbing Wildrider by the neck and roughly shaking him. Whatever game the slagger was playing was definitely not amusing.

Wildrider kept gesticulating and only then Motormaster remembered he had flicked the off switch to his own audios. The smoke bomb certainly had been some idiotic way to call his attention. When he corrected the relieving anomaly, he was welcomed by the voice of his lunatic subordinate, who was speaking very cheerfully considering his neck components were being crushed.

"…but we lost the Autobots as soon as we hit the highway. Sorry for losing the crack, boss. I'll get you some next time 'cause I did a quick search on the internet and it seems like you could definitely use it."

Motormaster frowned and shot a questioning glance at Drag Strip. "A human stimulant, you don't want to know… At least five Autobots ambushed us and had Wildrider surrounded, but I saved him and made sure to successfully complete the mission, wasting the Autobots in the process."

Five Autobots… that made two or three at the most. It was so easy to read between Drag Strip's lines. Motormaster threw Wildrider into his quarters and signaled Drag Strip to follow.

Wildrider tumbled a little but came to a stop when he crashed against Motormaster's chair. "So where's the kid, boss? Drag Strip said she would be slime within your wheels by now," he said, rubbing his head and looking around.

Immediately, Drag Strip quickly denied it with his head. That reminded Motormaster of something.

"So you wagered my trailer," he growled, seizing Drag Strip's arm and making sure to leave the marks of his fingers embedded on the polished yellow metal. "I suppose you won, because as far as I could tell I still had my fragging frame complete the last time I transformed."

Drag Strip's optic visor seemed to increase its size. "Who told… It was Wildrider's idea! He said you wouldn't miss it!"

Motormaster growled and slapped Drag Strip, almost dislocating his head from his neck joints. "I'll deal with you two idiots later," he said, walking toward his chair and sitting on it, kicking the fallen Wildrider out of his way. "Now empty your subspace pockets."

"Why? Is this a robbery?" Wildrider giggled.

Another kick and Wildrider's smile was erased. "Don't make me repeat myself! Show me what you got from your raid, NOW!"

Soon, the formerly bare floor was filled with the most colorful and senseless collection of garbage that Motormaster had ever seen. There was nothing there that he could recognize, except for the textiles that looked like the ones Dead End and Drag Strip used to polish their frames again and again. But except for that, nothing called his attention.

"What the slag is all this junk?" he asked, summoning Breakdown and Dead End through the Gestalt bond at the same time.

"Wildrider said that anything shiny and crunchy would work," Drag Strip hurried to excuse himself. "I can't tell you more because I don't know slag about humans and their stuff. If something's missing, blame Wildrider."

"What about _this?_" Motormaster said, pointing toward at least two dozen cans of car waxes and something named 'Detailing Machine'. "Should I blame Wildrider for this too?"

Drag Strip opened his mouth but didn't say a word, as he did every time he was caught telling lies. It was so unnerving. Motormaster somehow had managed to live with the idiocy of his teammates, but he couldn't stand when any of them tried to fool him. When he punched Drag Strip again, he made sure to make a point.

The door opened right after Drag Strip had become the only decoration on Motormaster's wall and the two missing Stunticons entered, neither of them surprised by the sight that welcomed them.

"Mm," Dead End said. "I take it that the gathering of human objects was a failure? It was a doomed mission from the beginning."

"Shut up and start classifying that junk on my floor. You have half a breem."

Dead End shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to obey, his lack of motivation not being an obstacle for him to do efficiently what he had been commanded.

"Breakdown!"

The addressed Stunticon froze, half in the process of helping Drag Strip to remove his helm from the wall.

"Y-yes?"

Motormaster signaled his teammate with his finger to approach. Breakdown released Drag Strip as if he was on fire and obeyed.

"Since you love to research about the humans, I'm counting that you will provide some light. What are this flesh bag's needs exactly?"

Breakdown stuttered something, unable to speak clearly with the close gaze of his leader attached to him.

"Where is the human, by the way? Did it already end its short lifespan?" Dead End asked, sitting on the floor and tidily organizing the objects scattered around him.

Motormaster stood up and liberated Breakdown from his penetrating glare, giving his subordinate the chance to pull himself together.

"Stored", he said bluntly. "I'm waiting, Breakdown."

"Ah, well… they… they refuel about three times a day, recharge more or less the time we do, and they… ah, they also…"

Breakdown hesitated and approached Motormaster, a surprising attitude considering that he always did his best to keep his distance from his leader. But when Breakdown whispered some of the most strange and disturbing words Motormaster had ever heard, he understood the reason of his subordinate's sudden courage.

The moment for becoming a '_They-do-what?' _kind of bot had arrived, and even with all his stoic roughness, Motormaster couldn't help but open his optics as widely as he had never opened them, turning fast toward a certain drawer.

Oh slag… if the human worm had dared to make a mess in his drawer… then blood would happen, and crushed miniature bones, and an even bigger mess of human tissue all over his fist…

"Humans need oxygen to keep functioning, especially considering we are thirteen thousand feet beneath the sea," Dead End said absent-mindedly. "Shall I prepare the waste disposal unit to get rid of the corpse?"

"Oh my God, you killed Kenny!" Wildrider laughed, peeking from behind Motormaster's shoulder.

"_You bastard," _Drag Strip's voice could be heard from his very uncomfortable spot, his head still half embedded into the wall.

Motormaster was so disturbed by the possibility of failing Megatron that he didn't even care for his teammates' lack of respect. He would always have time to murder them later. The human, on the other hand, was a casualty that he couldn't afford.

He opened the drawer carefully, not even noticing when Breakdown peeked behind his other shoulder in another display of unusual courage.

"I don't think she's dead. See? She's breaching."

"The word, Breakdown, is breathing," Dead End corrected immediately.

It was true. The human was alive, although it seemed upset. Motormaster didn't give a slag about its mood, relieved– once again – by not having managed to kill the slagging creature. But relief didn't stop him from turning around and shooting an angry look towards Dead End. "Time is over. For your own sake, I hope you've finished."

"I have, actually," Dead End said, standing up and holding a data pad in his hand. "After an examination as thorough as possible given the deadline you gave me, I came to the conclusion that most of these objects are useless to this human creature. Here is a complete list of the objects acquired."

Motormaster snatched the data pad from Dead End's hand and read some the alien words, as comprehensible as the mumbling of an over energized Insecticon. "_Fifty boxes of matches, seventeen tennis balls, twelve cans of shoe deodorant, thirty three and a half boxes of condoms…_ what the slag is all this?"

Dead End shrugged his shoulders. "As I said, nothing useful for this specific kind of human creature."

Motormaster shot daggers at Wildrider and Drag Strip, who had managed to get his head out of the wall. "Did I send you to get human fuel or to make complete idiots out of yourselves?"

Wildrider rubbed his chin, actually considering the question. Motormaster was about to punch him when the chirping of the creature resounded again.

"I wanna go out! It's dark in here!"

Confirmed, human worms didn't come with an off switch.

"It's better in the dark," Breakdown said, not addressing anybody in particular. "That way no one stares at you."

"Mister Motor!"

Wildrider chuckled. "Mister Motor, I like it! Can I call you that too, boss?"

Motormaster hit Wildrider in the back of the head, but that didn't stop the insane idiot from opening the drawer completely. "Hey, are you okay down there, kid?"

"I want to go out!"

Wildrider seized the human with so much familiarity that Motormaster felt disgusted. Even though the lunatic fragger's knowledge about the human race would prove to be useful, it was very disturbing to picture one of his teammates interacting so naturally with the bags of flesh. As much as the Stunticons had spent most of their lives on the terrestrial roads and were very used to the creatures that inhabited the planet, Motormaster had never considered them much more than bugs. Their roads were his to reign, and every time the cockroaches dared to step in his way it was only to end up crushed.

"Hey, are you hungry?" Wildrider said, putting the human before his face. "Drag Strip got you nice things to eat, didn't you Drags?"

"I want Cheetos!" the human croaked.

Drag Strip cast Wildrider a killer glare before addressing Motormaster. "I found the slagging crunchy fuel, but Wildrider didn't allow me to—"

"Wait," Motormaster said calmly, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. "Are you saying you _didn't_ bring the fragging Cheetos?"

Drag Strip stepped back. "I… we… Wildrider got ambushed by the Autobots. I had to save him!"

"You did?" Wildrider asked, clearly confused. Either his data banks were playing tricks with his mind again, or Drag Strip was lying. Experience had taught Motormaster that it was always a combination of both.

Discipline was about to be imposed when Breakdown spoke timidly, already hidden behind Dead End's frame. "This might work…"

Motormaster turned around and saw the large number of small plastic bags filled with something colorful.

"I saw this on television the other day, I'm sure," Breakdown said, seeming to slump with the sudden attention. "Human children refuel with this."

"Gummy bears!" the excited scream confirmed.

_Gummy bears… _another fragging word that didn't mean anything. One thing was for sure; humans were surrounded by all kinds of idiotic, useless slag.

Motormaster extended his hand and received twenty nine packages of the strange solid fuel. He placed them on the console of his computer and signaled Wildrider to put the human there.

"Heh, she's funny. Can we keep her?" Wildrider said as he saw the slime-squirt running happily toward the plastic bags and extracting some kind of rubber.

"Yeah, you can put her on a leash and hang her around your neck," Drag Strip sneered, unconsciously starting to refer to the creature as a 'she'. That was a club Motormaster was definitely not going to join. Having pets was an Autobot thing. That creature was an acquired target and thus it had to be addressed.

He caught Dead End's stare. Despite being the less expressive of the team, Dead End had a very annoying way to silently expose his thoughts without the need of words whenever he considered it convenient. Motormaster didn't need to take a look at the Gestalt bond to know that Dead End also considered the current scene inappropriate and ridiculous. If there was something that Motormaster hated the most it was to be exposed before his teammates in a situation that he could not control. As if dragged by a magnet, his worst memory arrived brutally to his memory banks to torture him again. Suddenly he was in that Autobot cell again, defeated by Optimus Prime and humiliated in front of his teammates…

"Mister Motor?"

He should have ignored the flesh bag. His processor knew, also his spark, even his joints knew better… But he turned around, still disturbed by the bad memory, as if weakness attracted more weakness.

The creature was looking at him as if nobody else existed. Her childish, pathetic anguish was reflected on that organic face half covered with the slagging gummy bears. "I have to go to the bathroom."

The words that Breakdown had whispered to his audios returned as comforting as acid. It was official. His worst nightmare was yet to be written. At least inside the Autobots cell anger had helped him to pick up the pieces of his shattered dignity.

_To be continued._

_

* * *

_

_I'm currently going through a Stunticon writing streak, so expect constant updates on this and my 'The Left Leg' story. _

_Those of you who watched 'Despicable Me' must have recognized the lines in which Agnes asks about what she is able to touch, and the bit in which she drums her cheeks. _

_There's also the classic 'Oh my God, you killed Kenny!' line from South Park, followed by the priceless 'You bastard'. I couldn't resist using them here. I was laughing maniacally last evening watching a South Park marathon and I had to include those lines somewhere. I think Wildrider and Drag Strip would be familiar with that show. Is there a better way to acquire the basics of human culture? I don't think so!_

_Many thanks to iratepirate for her beta services and to all of you for reading. Reviews are very much appreciated :o)_


	7. Ladies room in the Nemesis

_It's been a while since I updated this fic, so I thought it was time to take it out of the drawer. Sorry if I haven't been regular updating this and some of my other fics, but free time is something I'm not having much lately. _

_Many thanks to iratepirate for the beta reading and the never ending support. You really rock, hun :o)_

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Ladies room in the Nemesis**

"Ooookaay, how are you doing in there?" Wildrider yelled to the ventilation shaft, putting both hands beside his mouth components.

"The human can hear you without the need for shouting, Wildrider," Dead End said, somewhat offended by the fact that his teammate seemed to so easily forget his dislike of loud sounds.

Motormaster scowled, looking from the small opening in the wall towards the empty corridor. He was there only to provide protection in case his teammates were attacked, although the current predicament was so disturbing that he was almost eager for an ambush instead. Where was the coward Starscream when he was needed? Pummeling his shiny frame would have provided some much needed relief…

"_It's dark in here…"_ the unnerving voice of the flesh bag could be heard from inside.

"It's supposed to be dark, don't worry," Wildrider said reassuringly. "Keep going until you find a grid somewhere. Found it already?"

An unintelligible babbling followed. From his place beside Wildrider, Drag Strip snorted. "I don't think the human knows what a grid is. Care to explain, Dead End?"

Dead End shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Experience leads to knowledge. Wait until the human falls through one, and we won't be hearing any further questions relating grids."

"_I found a spider web…"_

Wildrider approached the square opening as much as he could. "Watch out with your joints! Let the small bugs get inside and see if you can get them out."

Drag Strip scowled at the arrival of an unpleasant memory. "I found one of those spiders in my left rim once… Why can't Soundwave just clean up his cat every time he comes back from rolling in the bushes or whatever he does outside the base?"

"Speaking of Ravage, do any of you know if he remained in the Nemesis? He could get inside the ventilation shaft and assist the human in locating a proper spot for her… waste disposal issue," Dead End said absent-mindedly, but not without that touch of cruelty that made Motormaster believe – sometimes – that at least one of his teammates had a hope of becoming a decent warrior.

"Uh, no…" Wildrider said, not getting the irony at all. "Ravage would tear her apart for sure."

Motormaster grunted and left the surveillance of the corridor to walk towards the ventilation shaft. He roughly pushed Wildrider away and bumped the wall with one fist. "You have wasted enough time in there, flesh bag! Get the slag out."

Silence came as the only response.

"Uh, boss, I don't think the kid likes being yelled at."

Motormaster shot a killer glance at Wildrider before hitting the wall again. "I told you to get out!"

After a moment, the whiny voice of the human could be heard again. _"Mister Motor… it's dark and cold… can you please come?"_

"It beats me why she keeps calling him," Drag Strip said in low voice.

Metal gritting metal signaled that Motormaster had clenched his denta plates, his patience having reached its limit long ago. "If I go in there it will be only to remove your putrid self out of the wall in which you'll end up smashed, did you hear?"

"Getting inside is physically impossible. Your frame is considerably bigger than the opening of the ventilation shaft." Dead End was wise enough to make sure to stand out of his leader's reach when he made his brilliant observation. Motormaster made a mental note to not forget to beat the scrap out of him later. For some reason, the current situation seemed to be poking Dead End's laconic irony.

"Why don't you try being gentle with the kid?" Wildrider suggested, getting closer to his leader. "It usually works. Girls don't like to be threatened… or shot."

Motormaster seized Wildrider's face with very little delicacy and pushed him backwards, this time making sure to use enough strength to make his teammate crash against the opposite wall. Then he proceeded to test the ventilation shaft with the width of his own arm. The voice of the human signaled that the vermin was not very far away and he could reach it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't know what kind of human fluids you can find in there already… or worse."

Motormaster stopped his movement, half of his arm already inside the slagging ventilation shaft. As much as he hated to admit it, Dead End could be right. That was the only reason why he didn't give him the much deserved kick the fragger had been working so hard to gain.

"Get Breakdown here," he ordered instead, "and tell him to bring something to extract a bug."

"Breakdown is busy creating a proper area for the human as you ordered him to do," Dead End explained, his interest suddenly lost because he detected a small dent on his neck, small reminder of his leader's grip a few hours ago.

Motormaster returned Dead End to his reality by seizing him again by the neck, making sure to give a companion to the not-so-small-anymore dent. "Then use your fragging legs while you still have them and get something to get the human out of there! And don't come back without something useful!"

"I'll go with you," Drag Strip said when Dead End was thrown in his direction. More than team's camaraderie, Drag Strip was certainly looking for any excuse to get the slag out of there, especially considering that he was the only one who hadn't received some sort of discipline from Motormaster in the last two and a half minutes. Motormaster growled, really disgusted by his teammate's cowardice.

"_Mister Motor… I found some tubes…"_ the human said with trembling voice.

Drag Strip and Dead End stopped in their tracks. "She must have reached the regulator system," Dead End said. "She's getting close to the grid above the waste disposal unit of the base."

Wildrider approached the wall again, despite the imminent danger of receiving another hit. "Wait, wait… are those tubes are the ones I'm thinking of?" he said giggling. "Maybe she should just do her business there. Boss?"

Motormaster considered Wildrider's words. Usually, there was nothing to consider whenever his lunatic of a teammate gave his opinion about anything, but this time there were implications that deserved a second thought.

"Whatever," Motormaster said frowning. "There are fans ahead that may shred the human to pieces anyway." Then he elevated his voice and shouted directly into the opening of the shaft. "Do what you must, vermin, but return immediately. You have one minute!"

Wildrider grinned. "Awesome! So Deadster, you have a map or something of the insides of this thing, don't you?"

"I do, indeed," Dead End said, activating a diagram which appeared on his optic visor. "The target would be conduit 3-B… By some happy coincidence, it's considerably close to the human's location."

Wildrider rubbed his hands with amusement. "Double awesome! Hey kid, so you're seeing some tubes, right? Okay, count three from left to right and do your thing. Make sure to pick the third one!"

The silence that followed indicated that perhaps the bag of flesh had understood what Wildrider had said. It was very hard to tell considering the intelligence of humans, especially the smallest ones.

"You are aware, of course, that all this may be unnecessary," Dead End said. "Breakdown must have already improvised something to take care of the human's… leaks."

Motormaster was very aware of that indeed, but still he decided to continue the most bizarre mission in which his team had ever got caught up with. It had been extremely annoying – not to mention humiliating – so far that it was only fair to receive some satisfaction, even if slight.

Motormaster smirked maliciously.

* * *

Breakdown cast an attentive look at his work of art before returning his gaze to the hologram displayed in the middle of the room. Sure, the house he had built with all the junk Wildrider and Drag Strip had brought from their shopping spree looked different from the original model he had found on the internet – not to mention considerably smaller – but in his opinion he had done a good job. He still needed to build a tennis court, the cascade and the pool, but all in all, it was suitable for a human being. He also needed to get rabbits, as they seemed to be the most important component of human housing according to the information he had acquired on that internet site.

A flash of purple light startled him so much that he almost fell over his work. His astonishment didn't decrease when he saw Skywarp standing before him.

"What… are you doing here?" he asked, not sure about what to do. Intruders were not welcome in the Stunticon quarters, he knew that perfectly, but Skywarp was a fellow Decepticon and Breakdown wasn't sure if shooting him was the best thing to do.

Skywarp didn't reply, but looked at Breakdown's job with curiosity. _"The Playboy Mansion…" _he read the details displayed on the hologram. "Nice. Your model looks just like it. You should have been a Constructicon, Breakdown."

Now Skywarp was mocking him. That wasn't strange because Skywarp was always mocking everybody, but unlike Wildrider, who did it because of playful purposes, Skywarp was always led by malice. His pranks had to be the saddest ever – or was it sadistic? The need of Dead End's proximity became urgent.

"You shouldn't be here, you know," Breakdown said, trying to sound indifferent as he welded one of the metal panels he had used as walls. Keeping his grip on the welder firm was a real achievement, considering he was very uncomfortable with the piercing red eyes of the Seeker all over him.

"I know, I'm off limits," Skywarp said, still smirking at whatever comparison he was making about the two human dwellings. "But I was curious about how you guys are holding it up with the human. I thought Motormaster would've already rolled over it."

"No, why would he do that?" Breakdown hurried to reply. As much as Motormaster had never had problems concerning killing humans, Breakdown knew he would never compromise the mission by rolling over the human girl Megatron had personally ordered him to get. That was one stupid assumption to make.

"Good to know. The human is very valuable, as you know, and it wouldn't be a good idea if it becomes pulp under one of your boss' wheels… Now that would be unfortunate, don't you agree?"

Breakdown turned off the welder and got to his feet, mentally getting ready to subspace his gun at the slightest signal of danger. Skywarp's presence there was not a good thing, definitely not a good thing.

"What do you want, Skywarp?" he said, trying to sound assertive but not aggressive. "This is Stunticon area and you are a Seeker."

Skywarp smirked and looked at himself with pretended astonishment. "Really? Gee, I hadn't noticed… And all this time I thought I had wings because I was an angel."

Breakdown shook his head. "The thing is that you can't be here. It's off limits for you, as you said. Go back to where you came from. I could get in real trouble if… no, _you _will be in real trouble if Motormaster finds out you are here."

"Relax," Skywarp said, reaching out for Motormaster's chair and sitting comfortably on it. For a moment, Breakdown thought the chair would explode. "Motormaster is not here, now is he? Besides, this is still the Nemesis, and I can be anywhere I want inside the Nemesis. Or tell me, are we in Megatron's quarters by any chance?"

"No… we are not, but…"

"Then I'm not breaking any rule here."

Not any written rule. It was true that limits inside the Nemesis were only tacitly determined by the Decepticons themselves, but still there was a Seeker inside Stunticons territory, and in the very room of Motormaster himself. It sounded even worse than profaning Megatron's quarters.

"You didn't answer my question," Skywarp insisted. "How are things going with the human? Are you guys having fun already? There are many things to do with humans. How good are you at juggling?"

Breakdown thought that he couldn't possibly juggle with just one human. "Things are going fine, just as preducted. Did Starscream send you here?"

Skywarp laughed. "I think you mean 'predicted', perhaps? And nope, Starscream didn't send me. He can't order me around as if I were his fraggin' slave – no offense, by the way. I'm here because I'm bored, why else?"

Breakdown put the welder aside and pretended to get busy with a can of paint, thinking about the best way to fight a teleporter. _Frag, they can't be fought… they disappear before you have the chance to get them, and they can appear anywhere, anywhere! They can be staring at me and I could never tell…_ "Well, if that was all, I guess you can leave now. Motormaster will be back any moment now."

Skywarp stood up. "Sure, sure... You know, it's a good thing that you don't use pants, Breakdown, or you'd pee them every time you mention his name."

"W-what?" Breakdown awkwardly said, for the first time during the conversation feeling the genuine need to resort to violence. He was aware of that kind of human verbal expression and he didn't like what Skywarp was trying to imply, as much as it was the pure truth.

"Anyway, it's pretty boring in here too," the Seeker continued, extending his wings as much as he could, as all Seekers did when they wanted to emphasize they were the most beautiful Cybertronians ever created. "I'll take off. Nice talking to you, Breakdown, we should do it more often… Good luck with the human. I really hope you won't end up killing it. Accidents happen all the time, I think you agree. And hey, nice place you built for the bug. I especially like the scaffolds. Are you going to hang the human from there?"

"They are decorations," Breakdown said grimly, honestly not finding them very different from the statues at the Playboy Mansion.

"Whatever you say, 'Down," Skywarp said, making sure to palm Breakdown's shoulder right before disappearing into his usual purple light. Breakdown stepped back. Slag, how he hated when Skywarp did that...

* * *

"_Mission accomplished, Screamer. I placed the camera in Motormaster's quarters."_

Starscream nodded as he accessed the terminal of his computer. "Good. It amazes me that, for once, you managed to follow one simple order without failure."

"_Ah, what would I do without your constant praise, sweetheart?" _Skywarp's ever mocking voice came from Starscream's comm link.

"Did Breakdown suspect anything?"

"_I don't know, maybe, maybe not. Who cares? The fragger was lubricating himself just because I kept staring at him. It's soooo easy to disturb him, and amusing too!"_

Starscream started to enter a series of codes into his computer. "Breakdown is one loser I don't give a frag about. Sometimes I have problems in even remembering his name, or the fact that he actually exists."

"_Yeah, me too, but what if he tells Motormaster I paid a visit? Those Gestalt fraggers tell everything to each other, even when they lubricate their valves."_

"I'm counting on him doing it. I want Motormaster to know that I won't remain arms crossed whilst he has things his way. I'm the Decepticons Second in Command and Motormaster can't step over my authority! If war is what he wants, then I— what the frag…?" Starscream stopped when the screen of his computer returned an image. A gray, polished image… "Skywarp, you idiot! I take back what I said. Once again, the only thing you achieve is failure! What did I do to be cursed with a totally brainless wingmate like you?"

"_Hey, chill out Screamer. What's wrong? I placed the camera you gave me in Motormaster's quarters."_

Starscream punched the console of the computer. "Yes, beneath a fraggin' chair… a chair! Do you know the image I'm receiving? Seventy percent of the lower part of the seat... and the fragging wall… and something that resembles a bulkhead… You dimwitted dolt!"

An annoying laugh made itself heard. _"A bulkhead, really? Wow, now that must be funny, huh?"_

"The easiest mission ever and you totally ruined it! The camera was small enough to be placed practically anywhere without being noticed by that brute and you place it in the most inconvenient place possible. Even an Autobot would have done it better! You have to be the worst joke of a teleporter ever!"

"_And you just have to be a demanding glitch, don't you?"_

"How dare you—"

"_Look, it's not that bad. You have _some _image of Motormouth's quarters, don't you? And I guess the microphone is working."_

"Yes, but..."

"_Then what are you whining about? We have audio and some sort of image of what's happening inside, so you'll be able to tell what's going on. The plan still goes!"_

Technically that was correct, but still Starscream hated when things didn't work out exactly the way he had planned, which happened about the eighty percent of the time.

"You should be thankful that I have priorities and I can't waste time killing you," he said somberly. "Now get your aft here! We have to move on to phase two."

"_Whatever you say, just make sure to turn off your security system. I almost got fried the last time I tried to sneak into your quarters."_

Starscream deactivated the special measures he had adapted to keep his dolt, teleporter wingmate out of his privacy. "Done, now you can— what the frag?" He tilted his head up, receiving another small stream of an unidentified liquid that was already running between his optics.

"_What is it?" _Skywarp asked through the comm link.

"I don't know. It seems that my air ventilation system is leaking something."

"_Mm, you may want to run a scan on that. I think I saw the Insecticons messing with the hull of the base a couple of days ago, and you _do _know what salty water does to our paintjob."_

For once, Starscream followed Skywarp's advice. The results were displayed on the screen: 95% water, urea 9.3 g/L, chloride 1.87 g/L, sodium 1.17 g/L, potassium 0.750 g/L, creatinine 0.670 g/L…

That didn't ring any bells. It was when Starscream did a quick search on the computer when the damn bells rang, and louder than ever.

"_Screamer, are you okay? What's going on? Why did you scream? Are you under attack?"_

Already in his personal washing unit and rubbing his face with an extreme mixture of solvents, Starscream opened his comm link again. "Correction, Skywarp, it will be us who will declare war to those Stunticon freaks! Because this is just what this is, fraggin' WAR! That Earth germ just signed her death sentence!"

_To be continued._

* * *

_Update coming as soon as possible. I'll post a couple of my other fics-in-pause before returning here again, but I'll do my best to give you a fast update. Thank you very much for your continuous support. Your feedback is always a bucket full of encouragement._


End file.
